


A City in Shadow

by MirrorMystic



Category: Shadowrun, The Invisible Library - Genevieve Cogman
Genre: Action, Crossover, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 01:57:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10375308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: Gamma-306. A world where the dragons control the corporations, and the corporations control everything. High order. High technlogy. High magic. And highly, highly dangerous.Their newest Library assignment leaves Irene, Kai, Bradamant, and Bradamant’s new junior, Morgan, as strangers in a strange land. This is a world transformed by a resurgence of magic after lying dormant beneath the earth, where everything the light touches is under corporate control, mercenaries and outlaws scratch a living in the shadows, and ordinary people are caught helplessly in between.Welcome… to the Sixth World.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Archangel_Beth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangel_Beth/gifts), [waxandwane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waxandwane/gifts).



> For Archangel_Beth, who showed me it could be done. And for waxandwane, who's indulged me so far. 
> 
> Welcome to what's hopefully only the first of Team Library's adventures in the Sixth World, where man meets magic and machine. This is the first chapter, in which Coppelia gives a warning; Irene has difficulty with a door; Bradamant discovers the one thing she and Kai have in common; and Kai partakes in aggressive negotiations with racists. Enjoy!

~*~  
  
_‘It won’t be easy.’_  
  
That’s what Coppelia had said. And, as she thumbed through the dossier for alternate Gamma-306, those four words settled deep in Irene’s gut. They were soon joined by a few choice others- like ‘high technology’, ‘high magic’, ‘high order’, and all the complications those carried.  
  
The Library was sending her into a world of order- a world held in the iron grip of the dragons. This was a world where stability was kept at the cost of freedom and progress, a grueling, uncompromising machine lubricated by money and money alone.  
  
This was a world with a camera on every street corner, a hostile world where outsiders and outlaws fled in terror from the shadow of mighty wings.  
  
The Library was sending her into the jaws of this concrete hell, at great risk to herself and to her team. And it was doing this for the reason the Library did anything:  
  
The Library desired a book, and Irene would deliver it.  
  
“There will be complications,” Coppelia had said. “The book we seek is being stored digitally, and no technology above a certain threshold can travel through a gate intact. You will have to return with a manuscript. If you cannot find one, you will have to make one. And, of course, there’s the issue of getting to it, which will be rather more difficult than a simple print job...”  
  
Bradamant had looked at her, then, catching her eyes in a sideways glance that radiated confidence, power, and control. Irene shivered and squirmed under her gaze. Bradamant’s lips curled up in a smirk.  
  
“Irene and I are the best the Library has to offer,” Bradamant had said, her voice electric with conviction. “We’ll find a way.”  
  
Irene didn’t know what to make of Bradamant. Her relationship with her older colleague was… _turbulent_ , to say the least. But something about Bradamant, that night in Coppelia’s office- her smile, her eyes, those words in her voice- something about her just took Irene’s breath away.  
  
“Your local contact is Hypnos, Librarian-in-Residence,” Kostchei rumbled, looming behind Coppelia’s desk. “He’s a good man, with a good head on his shoulders. He’ll support you the best he can- but like Coppelia says, it won’t be easy.”  
  
But when Irene and her team gathered at the gate to alternate G-306 and prepared to cross over, she felt like she could take on the world, the Elders’ warnings be damned.  
  
Bradamant had stood beside her. Her former mentor, now a tentative equal, cunning, but ruthless, not someone to let out of sight. Bradamant’s new apprentice, Morgan, led the way, bright-eyed and earnest. And right behind her, there was Irene’s own apprentice, Kai, steady and sure, her pillar and her prince.  
  
“It won’t be easy,” Irene had said, like a prayer, “but we’ll find a way.”  
  
Confidence wasn’t always something that came easily to Irene, but in that moment, those words gave her courage. Strength.  
  
Of course, that was before the gate malfunctioned and separated the four of them, spitting Irene and Morgan onto a filthy alley street and sending Kai and Bradamant who knew where.  
  
And, of course, that was before Irene and Morgan got mugged.  
  
~*~  
  
Gamma-306 was a world of neon lights and corporate skytowers, palaces of glass rising into a smoggy sky. The very tops of the towers pierced the gloom and glittered like jewels in the fading daylight, but down at street level, the world dissolved into shadow.  
  
A man stood on the curb, having a smoke. The storefront across the street was just as gritty and rundown as any other place on this block, save for one thing: its sign, a huge, gaudy butterfly set in bluish-white neon. He slipped a hand into his pocket as casually as he could, pulling out and fiddling with his phone. A moment later, he frowned, resting his boot on a rusty fire hydrant and scornfully flicking cigarette ash off the leather.  
  
He raised his hand and tossed his cigarette into the street. The edge of a tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve- a sledgehammer, backed by a bolt of lightning. It was a simple enough design, but it was just an outline for now. The first guy he went to told him ‘color won’t show on black skin’, so now he was in the market for a tattoo artist actually worth their ink.  
  
A shadow loomed behind him.  
  
It was a man, shorter than he, but three times as wide, much of that extra bulk comprised of the synthetic musculature and armored plating of his two cybernetic arms. Like him, the other man had a mark of a sledgehammer and lightning bolt on his left forearm. Unlike him, it was a decal painted onto the metal.  
  
The mark of the Sixth Street Hammerheads.  
  
“Bruce,” the tattooed man said, by way of greeting.  
  
“Slim,” nodded the cyber-armed hulk. “Let me see it.”  
  
Slim passed over his phone, and Bruce took it. It seemed comically tiny in his clunky cybernetic paw.  
  
“Doesn’t look like much,” Bruce said, flicking through pictures.  
  
“Don’t let it fool you,” Slim said. “The parlor itself might look like shit, but the chips are top-quality. Best ones we’ll get around here, anyway.”  
  
“Says here they also do hardware repair,” Bruce grunted. “Want me to get the van and a few more of the guys?”  
  
“No need,” Slim grinned. “We don’t got time to be hauling cyberdecks. The real money’s in chips, man. All we need’s a couple duffel bags.”  
  
“Place closes at midnight,” Bruce said. “Sounds like a plan.”  
  
Slim nodded, already thinking of the take, when he suddenly put his arm out and the smile vanished from his face.  
  
“What is it?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Shh,” Slim said. “Did you hear that…?”  
  
~*~  
  
Irene should have known something was wrong. But she was still riding the high of her colleague’s confidence, still holding on to the hope that this mission would go smoothly.  
  
That confidence promptly evaporated when she and Morgan stumbled out into an alley and the door slammed shut behind them, with Kai and Bradamant nowhere in sight.  
  
Immediately, Irene felt the world press in around her. G-306 was a world aligned with order, and she could feel it, running in currents infusing the world, the very atmosphere heavy with its oppressive weight. Irene regulated her breathing, reining in her anxiety from the brink of panic, pinning down her worries into a pertinent list of questions. Where were they? Where was Kai and Bradamant? Was something wrong with the gate?  
  
Morgan gasped beside her, and Irene kicked herself for her tunnel vision.  
  
Morgan was Bradamant’s newly-assigned junior Librarian, a nonbinary youth with boyishly short, dark hair, green eyes, and feminine hips. This was to be Morgan’s first long-term retrieval project for the Library. Irene had protested bringing a novice on such a hazardous mission, but this was a joint effort, and Kostchei had assured her that, with Irene and Kai’s support, Morgan would be in good hands.  
  
That wouldn’t mean much if Kai and Bradamant were MIA due to a gate malfunction.  
  
Morgan was a junior. Not _her_ junior, but a junior nonetheless. And with Bradamant missing, Irene had rank, and the responsibility that entailed.  
  
Morgan was on one knee on the pavement, one hand clutching their head, the other resting over their heart. Irene knelt beside them, meeting their eyes.  
  
“Breathe,” Irene urged. “This world is steeped in order, and the dragons hold influence. Ordinary humans feel the weight.”  
  
Irene took Morgan’s hand and placed it over their stomach.  
  
“In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Irene coached. “Press down as you exhale.”  
  
Morgan nodded. Irene placed a hand on their shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  
  
Then Irene caught a hint of movement at the head of the alley, and she let out a sigh.  
  
“Can you walk?” Irene whispered.  
  
Morgan nodded.  
  
“Can you run?” Irene pressed.  
  
“Yes,” Morgan said. “I think so.”  
  
“Something to remember,” Irene said, as she drew Morgan behind her, “is that when you’re offworld, there’s always plenty of running.”  
  
Two men, cast in the neon glow of the city, stepped out of the light and became shadows. One of them was huge, in a sleeveless vest showcasing his clearly augmetic musculature. The other was in a long coat, rake-thin, and, Irene sensed, much more dangerous.  
  
“Check this out, Bruce,” said the skinny one, “an appetizer before the main course.”  
  
“Aww, this don’t seem right, Slim,” said Bruce, a wicked smile undercutting his feigned protesting. “Beating up on a prissy cougar and her pet twink? They don’t hardly stand a chance.”  
  
Irene and Morgan shared a look.  
  
“...I don’t think you look _that_ old,” Morgan offered helpfully.  
  
“Thank you, Morgan,” Irene said, turning her gaze back to the duo. The big guy, Bruce, made a show of punching his palm, as if their intentions weren’t already quite clear. She sighed. What a welcome…  
  
“I’m sure you know how this goes,” growled the cyber-armed brute, “let’s see your creds.”  
  
Irene sighed and slipped her wallet out of her skirt. It still held banknotes from Vale’s London, an era on the cusp of switching from coinage to paper currency. Worthless in this alternate, but that’s not to say it was useless.  
  
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Irene muttered, flinging it to the man in an underhanded toss.  
  
Bruce caught it neatly in his clunky augmetic hand. He pulled out a few bills, peering at them quizzically.  
  
“What’s all this, lady?” He demanded. “You don’t carry a credstick?”  
  
“ **Banknotes** ,” Irene cried, “ **burn!** ”  
  
The Language cannot speak a lie. And when a Librarian speaks the Language, the world obeys.  
  
Irene’s wallet erupted in a ball of flame, going off in Bruce’s grasp like an incendiary grenade. He gasped and swore, swatting at the flames creeping across his shirt and vest.  
  
“Shit!” Bruce hissed, “They’re Mages!”  
  
Irene was already moving, pulling Morgan along behind her by the wrist. Slim scowled, eyes darting between Bruce patting out his burning clothes and two strangers fleeing a mugging. Logic said to let them go, that they didn’t have anything worth taking. But pride and anger caught his heart like a fishhook.  
  
“No one runs from the Hammerheads,” Slim growled through gritted teeth. The air shimmered and distorted around him, electricity crackling between his fingertips.  
  
“Two can play that game!” Slim cried. He threw his hand forward and sent a spear of yellow lightning racing down the street towards Irene and Morgan’s departing forms.  
  
Morgan let go of Irene’s wrist, fell into a crouch, and traced two fingers across the surface of a sidewalk paving stone. The stone rose into the air at chest height, haloed by a faint green glow. Irene turned, feeling Morgan’s hand leave hers. The stone exploded into a cloud of electrified concrete dust, and through the debris, she saw the fire hydrant on the curb, the hostile mage charging up a second bolt, and Morgan, a junior Librarian, performing elemental magic, a power wholly separate from that of the Language.  
  
A number of words came to mind. Words of surprise, of alarm, of approval. Instead, Irene chose:  
  
“ **Hydrant, burst!** ”  
  
The Language rippled through the air, and the fire hydrant burst in a shriek of metal and gushing water. A pillar of water slammed into the two gangsters like a fire hose. They swept down the alley, shuddering and convulsing as magical lightning lit up the night. A crowd was beginning to gather, inquisitive eyes peering out of nearby storefronts, people stopping on the sidewalk. Irene took Morgan’s hand and kept on running.  
  
“I’m sorry about this,” Irene said, breathless. “Normally I’m a little more discreet!”  
  
“We’re still alive,” Morgan panted. “I’m just following your example!”  
  
The sky was still a rosy gold, but in the shadow of the corporations, everything was dark. The people on the street stopped and stared at the burst hydrant, shining with electricity, their eyes, despite everything, drawn to the light. And through the confusion and the spectacle, Irene and Morgan slipped away.  
  
~*~  
  
Irene closed the door behind them and tentatively breathed a sigh of relief. She turned and scanned their room- cramped by any standards, but, for the moment, safe. As safe as they could be in this unfamiliar world, at least. Irene crossed the room, her legs aching, and gratefully slunk into a plush armchair.  
  
“Are you hurt?” Irene asked.  
  
Morgan shook their head. Morgan was short enough that they kicked their legs as they sat on the edge of the bed- to Irene’s amusement, despite everything.  
  
“Listen,” Irene began, “I, um, hope you don’t take this as me making a pass at you.”  
  
“What? Oh!” Morgan dismissed the thought. “Of course not. I’m a junior, and you’re a senior. I can’t imagine you’d ever do anything untoward.”  
  
Kai’s likeness flicked across Irene’s eyes. _I wouldn’t say that_ , Irene thought.  
  
Morgan smiled. “The silk sheets _are_ a little much, though, aren’t they?”  
  
Irene nodded, surveying the room. Some things stayed the same in every alternate- death, taxes, and sex. There was nothing like a no-tell motel to lay low for awhile, and it was always nice to have a place to sleep- or _sleep_ , as it were.  
  
It’s been quite a while since Irene had last _slept_ , come to think of it, but it was hardly the time to be thinking about that now.  
  
“That was good work, earlier,” Irene said, shrugging away the thought, “with that stone.”  
  
“You thought so?” Morgan’s face lit up. “I- I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a natural with magic, I find. Although Senior Bradamant would rather I study the Language.”  
  
“Local magic can be a fickle thing,” Irene explained. “We’re in a world of order, so the use of magic is consistent, controlled. Anyone with the potential can just learn it out of a book. Follow the right instructions, get the right spell. But the deeper you dive into chaos, the wilder magic becomes. Sometimes it’s still something that can be tamed, but there’s a point where it becomes… alive. Uncontrollable. You unleash it, and get out of its way.”  
  
“I see,” Morgan said.  
  
“The Language will always be with you,” Irene said, but hesitated, seeing Morgan’s expression fall. She wondered how many times Bradamant had given them this speech- how many times had Bradamant given _her_ this speech, back when Irene was her junior? Irene exhaled, her expression softening.  
  
“But,” Irene continued, “a Librarian uses every tool and talent at their disposal in order to complete their mission. And I think, Morgan, you have a talent worth nurturing.”  
  
Morgan snapped up, staring at her.  
  
“Th- _Thank_ you, ma’am!” They beamed.  
  
_Gods, that smile_ , Irene thought. _There’s a smile worth protecting._  
  
Once upon a time, Irene had been in Morgan’s shoes. She had been Bradamant’s wide-eyed junior, eager to serve the Library and chase down one-of-a-kind books… Gods, had she ever been that young? Had she ever been that bright? Back then, clinging to Bradamant’s every word, for good or ill…  
  
_You said you wanted to go back to us not quite hating each other, right? Well, I want to go back further- to when we were both young, and eager to do the Library’s work. Before it became about the prestige. ...Before envy smothered any affection I had for you._ _  
__  
_ Irene exhaled. Had Bradamant really said that? After half a bottle of brandy, she’d believe it. They’d been close, once. Closer, maybe, if regulations and Irene’s own shortsightedness hadn’t gotten in the way.  
  
Irene didn’t know if they could ever be that close again. Bradamant was manipulative and ambitious. She was someone who would finish the mission at any cost- even if that cost was Irene. She was ruthless, and she was dangerous- like an unsheathed knife left to rattle inside a purse.  
  
But she’d still rather have Bradamant here beside her than have to wander the shadows of this city alone.  
  
“Ma’am?” Morgan asked, their voice piercing Irene’s clouded mind.  
  
“Yes?” Irene shook the melancholy away.  
  
“What should we do now?”  
  
Irene exhaled.  
  
“We’re not off to the smoothest start,” Irene admitted. “I don’t know if Kai and Bradamant made it through the gate, and it’s dangerous for us to proceed without them. Our first objective should be to consult this alternate’s Librarian-in-Residence. He’s a Librarian. Hypnos. He’s set up shop in a place called The Papillon Heart- right by the gate, actually. Unfortunately, due to the commotion we made, it might not be safe to go there right now.”  
  
Irene didn’t mention that it may not be entirely safe _here_ , either. Since she’d had to turn her wallet into a makeshift grenade (not that London banknotes would have been much use here), she’d used the Language to bluff her way past the receptionist and into this room. But who knew how long that deception would last?  
  
Irene sighed, again. This was quickly becoming a trend. Both sighing, and running.  
  
“Get some rest,” Irene said, having to fight back a yawn of her own. “Once things have settled down, we’ll go to The Papillon Heart, find Hypnos, and get our bearings. And if Kai and Bradamant have made it through the gate, hopefully they’ll have the same idea.”  
  
Irene closed her eyes and sat back in her armchair, trying to quiet the anxiety creeping into her head. Morgan watched her, unable to contain their curiosity.  
  
“Ma’am?” They asked.  
  
“Mm?” Irene murmured, without opening her eyes.  
  
“I’ve read the mission reports, of course, and we’ve all heard stories, but…” Morgan bit their lip. “...What… _happened_ , ma’am? Between you and Senior Bradamant?”  
  
Irene let out a weary sigh, whistling out through her teeth.  
  
“Work happened, Morgan,” Irene said, her eyes distant and heavy. “Get some rest. There’ll be plenty of work to come.”  
  
~*~  
  
Kai and Bradamant emerged onto the back alley in G-306, the night sky smothered by a blanket of smog, the streets ablaze with neon and thrumming with club music so loud it shook the ground. Kai took a deep breath and let out a satisfied sigh. The acrid stench of danger, adrenaline, metal, and tobacco- all undercut by the subtle ambience of a world of order. Just like the plane where Kai was born.  
  
“Just like home,” Kai muttered with a rueful smile, their surroundings at once intimately familiar and wholly unwelcome.  
  
The gate snapped shut behind them and became an ordinary door again. Kai turned, and his smile vanished.  
  
“Irene?” He called. “Morgan?”  
  
“A gate malfunction. _Lovely_ ,” Bradamant said beside him, irritated, massaging her temple. Where Kai was a dragon, and could thus breathe in the ordered nature of this place like a summer breeze, Bradamant was only human, and this place’s very nature was giving her a headache.  
  
“We’re off to a _swell_ start,” Bradamant began, sourly. She took a step towards the mouth of the alley before Kai roughly caught her by the shoulder.  
  
“Bradamant-” Kai warned.  
  
“Here? Now?” Bradamant said, utterly deadpan. “Oh, Prince Kai, this is so sudden. Swoon.”  
  
“I’m not sure what kind of man you take me for,” Kai muttered. “Look.”  
  
A fire hydrant, or what was left of one, was sitting on the street at the head of the alley, twisted into a metal ruin. Water had soaked the concrete, most of it swallowed up by the pavement, but there was still a puddle of water pooled above the sodden ground. Wet streaks ran across the sidewalk, as if someone had been dragged through the water. The pool crackled with flickering flashes of blue and white, all-but lost in the neon glow of the surrounding street.  
  
“Electrified,” Kai said. “Magical, not natural. One more step would have been bad.”  
  
“Indeed,” Bradamant admitted. Then, in the Language: “ **Puddle, freeze.** ”  
  
Bradamant’s voice passed over the puddle like a strong breeze, and in an instant, the pavement froze over, the arcs of lingering electricity fading from the now non-conductive ice. Bradamant gingerly stepped onto the edge of the puddle. When she wasn’t promptly electrocuted, she stomped on the ice and ground it to powder beneath her heel, creating the closest thing to traction she could manage. She crossed the ice with a commanding stride, while Kai followed behind, rather more warily.  
  
“Separated by a gate malfunction before we’ve even got started,” Bradamant scowled, crunching ice beneath her feet.  
  
“There’s a tone-setter,” Kai said.  
  
“Hopefully they haven’t wandered too far off,” Bradamant said.  
  
“If they even made it through,” Kai replied.  
  
They reached the end of the frozen puddle, stepping gratefully onto dry pavement. They started down the street, when Bradamant stopped, lingering by the broken fire hydrant.  
  
“Irene used the Language here,” Bradamant said firmly.  
  
“You’re sure?” Kai asked.  
  
“You think water pressure alone made such a lovely bouquet?” Bradamant gestured to the hydrant, having burst with so much force that the metal peeled away like flower petals. “Besides, I can still feel it in the air- still hear the echo, if you would.”  
  
“How do you know it wasn’t the Librarian-in-Residence here, Hypnos?”  
  
“I _know_ Irene’s voice,” Bradamant snapped. Kai held up his hand peaceably.  
  
“Alright, alright. So we know Irene’s here,” Kai said. “Where?”  
  
“The echo isn’t quite that precise,” Bradamant lamented.  
  
“Well, you know her best,” Kai said, which gave Bradamant an odd flush of satisfaction. “Where do you think she’d be?”  
  
Bradamant thought about that. She and Kai shared a look.  
  
~*~  
  
Bradamant slapped the glass down on the counter and hissed with satisfaction.  
  
“This hardly seems like the time,” Kai muttered, leaning his elbows on the bar.  
  
“Oh, hush, princeling,” Bradamant said. “You asked me where I thought Irene would go, so here we are. Besides, I have a headache.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure the liquor will clear that right up,” Kai said dryly, earning him a scowl.  
  
“What can I get for you, sugar?” asked the bartender, a large, lively woman named Shanti.  
  
Kai hesitated. It didn’t seem right to be drinking on assignment, not when Irene and Morgan were still missing. Also, they hadn’t made contact with the Librarian-in-Residence, so they still didn’t have any of the local currency. Kai cringed inwardly at the thought of Bradamant having to use the Language just to avoid paying a tab.  
  
“First one’s free, handsome,” Shanti offered, when Kai hesitated for too long.  
  
“No, thank you,” Kai said.  
  
“ _I’ll_ take it,” Bradamant chimed in.  
  
Kai rolled his eyes. He hadn’t seen too many sides of Bradamant, admittedly- “cold professional” and “femme fatale” were the only ones that came readily to mind- but “Bradamant at the bar” was a new one.  
  
Kai took a sip of his water ( _with_ lemon, thank you) and scanned the bar. This bar- Pete’s- was such a stark contrast to the world outside that Kai was forced to think it was a deliberate anachronism. Outside, the world was sleek plastics and shining chrome, tapering to dirty concrete and smog at the edges. In here, with it’s wood panelling and hardwood floors, the bar was a world apart. It was still dark, admittedly, but it was ambient, earthy, lived-in. And it was certainly nice that the music was at a level where you could still hear yourself think.  
  
You could still hear people talk, too. Kai peered sidelong at a corner table, a table everyone else in the bar seemed to be pointedly looking away from. A dozen muscled brutes were huddled around a number of tables shoved together, their conversation not so much drifting past Kai as punching him in the head, with how loud they were being.  
  
“Man, you two just bitter ‘cuz y’all got _chumped_ by some Mages in front of the Heart!” one of them crowed, and the rest of the table burst into uproarious laughter, all but two.  
  
One of them was a giant of a man, bigger than any of his buddies. He took a shot from a glass that was comically tiny in his augmetic grip. It was a wonder, Kai thought, he didn’t break the damn thing.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up,” the brute grumbled. “It could’ve happened to any of ya.”  
  
The man beside him was the only other one at the table not laughing. He was rake-thin, in a frayed coat, draped across his chair like a cat. He nursed his beer without saying a word, glowering at the others. His eyes caught Kai for an instant- before Kai looked away.  
  
“Hey, princeling,” Bradamant was saying. “Did you know that there’s a cocktail called an Orgasm?”  
  
“ _What_?” Kai hissed.  
  
“I know,” Bradamant grinned impishly. “Can you imagine? Coming up to a bar and saying ‘can I get an Orgasm?’ And the bartender would say ‘at least buy me a drink first’.”  
  
Bradamant giggled, snorted, and then giggled harder in embarrassment. Kai shot Shanti a meaningful glance.  
  
“I think she’s had enough,” Kai said.  
  
“She’s only had two drinks,” Shanti shrugged.  
  
“You’re no fun!” Bradamant huffed. “What, I can’t have a bit of fun without you calling me a drunk? I can’t laugh at my own jokes?”  
  
“Hold that thought,” Kai said. “Excuse me, Shanti?”  
  
“Yeah, sugar?”  
  
“What’s their story?” Kai asked, indicating the corner table with a tip of his head.  
  
“Now I _know_ y’all gotta be new in town,” Shanti sighed. “I envy you. Looks like yours. Lady like yours.”  
  
“She’s not _my_ -”  
  
“And most importantly,” Shanti pressed on, “y’all never heard of the Sixth Street Hammerheads.”  
  
Kai risked a glance back at the table. Squinting in the low light, he could make out the tattoo of a hammer on each of the gangster’s arms. Even the big guy had a painted decal of a hammer on his cyber-arm in lieu of a tattoo.  
  
“They wear their badges on their skin,” Shanti said, “but I think you can tell just by looking at ‘em. Those Hammers are good for hitting things, and not much else.”  
  
“Do they ever cause you any trouble?” Bradamant asked.  
  
“Not in this bar. Not if I can help it,” Shanti said. “Out in the street’s a different story. And even then, believe me when I tell you the Great Whites are ten times worse.”  
  
“Is every gang in this city named after sharks?” Kai wondered.  
  
“That’s not why they picked the name,” Shanti spat, venom in her voice.  
  
Kai and Bradamant exchanged glances.  
  
“...We should get going,” Bradamant said. “We need to find Morgan and Irene.”  
  
“Agreed,” Kai said, getting to his feet. “Shanti, thank you for the information. Can you set up a tab for us? We’ll be back once we’ve gotten settled.”  
  
“Don’t you worry about that,” Shanti said, shooing them away. “Find your friends. And be careful on the street- the night crowd’s coming out.”  
  
~*~  
  
The bar was a bust, so now it was time for plan B- heading to the Librarian-in-Residence’s, well, residence, and hope Irene had a similar thought. Kai strode down the street, distracted, making a list in his head.  
  
They needed to find Irene and Morgan. They needed to meet with Hypnos at his shop, The Papillon Heart. They needed to establish their cover identities in this alternate. They needed money. They needed clothes. They needed weapons. More than anything, Kai thought, they needed a plan.  
  
Bradamant, meanwhile, had other things on her mind.  
  
“I can’t believe you think I’m such a stick in the mud,” Bradamant said. Cars and taxis blurred past flashing signboards. Pounding club music echoed beneath their feet.  
  
“You don’t seem too concerned with finding Irene,” Kai said. He’d meant to sound casual, but it came out like an accusation.  
  
“Irene can take care of herself,” Bradamant said. “Morgan, maybe less so, but they’re in Irene’s capable hands.”  
  
“But aren’t you worried?” Kai asked.  
  
“It’s called _delegation_ , princeling,” Bradamant replied. “I trust my juniors enough not to need them following at my heels everywhere I go. Not that Irene is my junior anymore. Now that she’s come into her own, _she_ should be the one giving you this lesson. But while we’re here, write this down: You don’t need to hold your junior’s hand through every little thing.”  
  
“It’s not about leading them by the hand,” Kai said. “It’s about catching them if they fall.”  
  
Bradamant considered that, her face unreadable beneath the glow of neon lights. They continued down the street in silence. An awkward quiet settled between them, and Kai could guess the reasons why. After all, aside from serving the Library, there was only one thing the two of them had in common…  
  
“Bradamant,” Kai began.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Irene’s a remarkable woman, isn’t she?”  
  
Bradamant slowed to a stop in front of him. She turned and fixed him with an icy stare, so striking that Kai almost clutched his chest in shock. Gods, if looks could kill…  
  
“I- I’m sorry,” Kai sputtered, not even really knowing what he was apologizing for.  
  
Bradamant’s wintry gaze softened and she turned away. As she did, Kai remembered to start breathing again.  
  
“Don’t be,” Bradamant said. “Like you said. Irene is a remarkable woman.”  
  
Bradamant turned on her heel and stalked away. Kai blinked, before going after her.  
  
“Bradamant,” Kai said, “do you-”  
  
“Junior Kai, I am not _nearly_ drunk enough to be having this talk with you,” Bradamant said, eyes forward.  
  
“I’m just saying, there’s nothing to be ashamed of! There’s a lot to admire about Irene-”  
  
“Please,” Bradamant stopped in her tracks again. “I want Irene, but I don’t want to _be_ her. Irene, with her head in the clouds and her nose in a book, oblivious to everyone around her. Irene, who has no _clue_ of her own reputation, of her talent, her _prestige_! No, Kai. I’m nothing like Irene. _I_ know _exactly_ how good I am.”  
  
The passion in Bradamant’s voice caught Kai off guard. He stood there, fidgeting, not knowing what to say.  
  
“How good is that?” He asked lamely, expecting her to boast.  
  
“Not enough,” Bradamant said instead.  
  
Kai blinked.  
  
“Bradamant-” he began.  
  
“Save it,” she said, stepping into the bluish-white glow of a giant neon butterfly. “We’re here.”  
  
~*~  
  
The Papillon Heart was, in a word, ambient. Continuing the theme of the gaudy neon butterfly above their storefront, glowing wall lights, also shaped like butterflies, drew customers past a small coatroom to a large open space, filled with rows and rows of reclining chairs. It was dark, but enchanting, the butterfly wall lights glittering like fireflies on a summer evening. The mood lighting and the painted murals on the walls combined to create the feeling of following butterflies into a magical forest.  
  
“Well _this_ is tacky,” Bradamant said, rather spoiling the fairy-tale mood.  
  
“It’s alright,” Kai shrugged.  
  
The rows of armchairs were reminiscent of the seats in a movie theater- those deluxe seats that you pay extra for, just so you could stretch your legs. There were some differences, however, like how there was a strip of metal beneath the headrest containing multiple electronic ports, a number of switches in the right-hand armrest, and, least subtly, a visor that could be flipped down over your eyes.  
  
The rows of recliners sat facing, not a movie screen, but the front desk. Behind the desk sat a teenage girl with bags under her eyes, and behind her, were a number of digital signboards. They flicked through a number of screens, each showing a different view- rock-climbing, ice-skating, racing, sailing, among other things- all from a first-person perspective. A hall branched off from the main theater into a cluster of siderooms, and a narrow stairwell tucked in the corner led up to the second floor.  
  
The door said “Open”, but this poor girl’s eyes said “Closed”. Still, she went into her pitch:  
  
“Welcome to The Papillon Heart, Sixth Street’s premiere provider of total immersion entertainment. We offer a stunning variety of sims, across every genre, creating an unforgettable experience every metatype, plugged, or unplugged, can enjoy. We also offer private rooms…”  
  
As she went through her clearly well-practiced speech, Kai realized that the girl wasn’t human. Her ears tapered to a point, and two elongated lower canines jutted out from her lips like fangs. She also had a noticeably strong and bulky build. No doubt she was the bouncer as well as the receptionist. If they had to fight, Kai wasn’t entirely sure about his chances.  
  
The girl droned on through Kai’s silent appraisal, trailing off with a weary sigh. “...Look, guys, we’re closing in like fifteen minutes. So, if you just want a quickie…”  
  
“That’s alright,” Bradamant said, raising a hand. “We’re actually here looking for someone. A man who calls himself Hypnos.”  
  
The girl froze, staring at them.  
  
“You… want to speak to the owner…?” She asked, wide-eyed.  
  
“Er, yes,” Kai blinked. “Is he here?”  
  
The girl- Petra, by her nametag- swallowed hard, before pressing the intercom button on her desk.  
  
“Mr. Blair?” Petra said, eyeing Kai and Bradamant warily. “There’s people here to see you.”  
  
A crackle of static. A resigned sigh. And then: “ _Thank you, Petra. I’ll be right down._ ”  
  
Was something wrong? Had Hypnos been compromised? Kai swallowed, tense, glancing at Bradamant. Neither of them were armed, save for the Language and Kai’s own fists. If it came to a fight…  
  
A man descended the stairs. He had dark skin, nappy hair trimmed short, a narrow face, and curious, inquisitive eyes. He dressed much like an ordinary small business-owner would- dress-shirt, tie, slacks, shoes. But his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing a web of glinting silver circuitry implanted just beneath his skin.  
  
“You’re early tonight, aren’t you?” He’d been saying, before he stopped, studying Kai and Bradamant in the dim light. His right eye was the deep color of freshly-tilled soil; his left was a bright, electronic blue.  
  
“You’re not with them,” he said, a fact, not a question. His cybernetic eye whirred as it focused, settling on Kai, specifically. “You can’t be.”  
  
Kai and Bradamant shared another look. It wasn’t just that this ‘Mr. Blair’ had cybernetics- technology over a certain threshold cannot function within the Library- but it was more obvious than that. He was young. Far too young. Hypnos was a senior Librarian who’d served the Library for decades. This couldn’t be the man they were looking for.  
  
“I’m Simon Blair, the owner of the Papillon Heart,” Blair said. “And you are?”  
  
“We’re sorry, sir,” Kai said. “It seems we’ve made a mistake-”  
  
Blair looked up sharply. Kai looked over his shoulder instinctively, but it seemed that Blair was looking at something only he could see. He muttered and cursed under his breath, flexing his fingers, the inlaid silver circuitry glinting in the light.  
  
“Damn it. Not here. Not tonight,” he muttered, glancing at Kai and Bradamant. Abruptly, he started shooing them towards the door.  
  
“I’m sorry about this,” Blair said, breathless, “but you need to leave, right now.”  
  
“But-”  
  
Blair suddenly looked up and to the left. Kai realized he was getting some sort of data feed through his cybernetic eye. Blair swore. He threw open the door to the coatroom and shoved Kai and Bradamant inside.  
  
“There’s no time to explain,” Blair hissed. “Stay here. Stay quiet.”  
  
Blair slid the door shut, leaving Kai and Bradamant tangled in a copse of hanging winter coats. They waited in a tense, puzzled silence. They glanced at each other, eyes meeting in the dark.  
  
“Good evening, Mr. Blair,” came a voice from beyond the door.  
  
~*~  
  
Midnight, and the Sixth Street Hammerheads were out in force.  
  
They staggered out of bars and clubs, trickling out of alleys and side streets in ones and twos, each straggler joining the death march that made its way down the avenue. The crew became a crowd; the crowd became a mob. Soon, there were three dozen gangsters muscling their way down the street, with pedestrians and even oncoming cars detouring onto side streets rather than get in their way.  
  
Each of them had their allegiance marked on their skin. And every one of them was armed- knuckle-dusters, baseball bats, bottles, pipes, bricks. Every one of them except the two who led the way- Bruce, whose cyber-arms were a stronger weapon than anything you could find on the street, and Slim, lightning crackling at his fingertips, who was never truly unarmed.  
  
They gathered in a loose semi-circle on the street, cast in the bluish-white glow of the Papillon Heart’s neon butterfly.  
  
“This is the place,” Slim said. “Would’ve been a nice take.”  
  
“If two street mages hadn’t caused a scene and sent you packing,” someone jeered behind him.  
  
“Shut it,” Bruce snapped. “We called in the boys, and now payday’s right through that door. No more running.”  
  
Crouching in the dark, Morgan watched the mob gather across the street, lurking in the alley where this all began.  
  
“So much for waiting until this settles down,” they muttered under their breath.  
  
They turned, and a silhouette moved in the dark beside them. Morgan cried out-  
  
Irene clamped her hand over Morgan’s mouth with a little too much force, knocking Morgan’s head into the wall behind them. Morgan’s scream of surprise became a squeak of pain.  
  
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, Morgan,” Irene whispered, hugging Morgan to her chest and smoothing their hair along their scalp. “I promise you, I’m normally more discreet than this.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Morgan winced, prodding at their aching head. “But what do we do now? This looks like exactly the sort of trouble we should be avoiding.”  
  
“But it’s trouble on Hypnos’ doorstep,” Irene said. “This mission cannot proceed without the support of the Librarian-in-Residence. We need him, which means if we have to save him from a mob of gangsters, that’s what we’ll do.”  
  
Morgan peered over Irene’s shoulder at said mob of gangsters, every one of them armed.  
  
“I, uh, admire your confidence, ma’am,” they grimaced. “Shall I take the twenty men on the right, and you take the twenty on the left?”  
  
Irene smiled, despite everything.  
  
“Patience,” she said. “Let’s see where this goes…”  
  
Across the street, the Hammerheads had surrounded the Papillon Heart. Parked out front was an impeccably clean but otherwise unremarkable town car- unremarkable, that is, save for its hood ornament, a stylized letter “W” in a halo of metal.  
  
“Check this out, man,” Slim said, jerking his head towards the car.  
  
Bruce saw the crest and his face twisted in anger. He curled two fingers around the metal ring of the hood ornament and wrenched it off the car, pitching it onto a nearby rooftop with a whir of his cybernetic arm.  
  
“Great Whites,” Bruce said, exhaling the words like a curse. “I thought Whitmore and his suits knew the Hammerheads owned these streets.”  
  
While Bruce stood there, seething, men stepped out into the light, materializing as if from smoke. Six men, in dark, three-piece suits, each of them with a silver “W” pinned to their lapels and a white band around their left arms.  
  
They gathered in front of the door to the Heart, heedless of the fact that they were surrounded and outnumbered. They reached into their suits and drew collapsible shock batons, extending them with practiced flicks, the ends crackling with electricity.  
  
“Mr. Whitmore is currently conducting business,” one of them said, blocking the door. “He will _not_ be disturbed.”  
  
~*~  
  
If Mr. Whitmore had been a few decades older, he would have worn his look well. A fine three piece suit, horn-rimmed glasses, and a tie clip shaped like a silver “W”- if he’d been older, he might’ve looked fashionable. If he had broader shoulders and any facial hair, he might’ve even looked imposing.  
  
Instead, with his pale, greasy skin and insufferable expression, all wealth and no taste, he just looked like a spoiled brat with too much money and too much blood on his hands.  
  
“Mr. Blair,” Whitmore began, two of his retainers looming silently beside him.  
  
“Leon,” Blair spat. “You know, I’d spent the last few weeks pleasantly forgetting that the Great Whites were still prowling around this city. I’d forgotten you just stay holed up in your penthouse until collection day. What’s the matter? Worried you’ll get your nice suit dirty?”  
  
“It’s a valid concern,” Leon said, fussing with his cufflinks. “So much trash on these streets today. Littering alleys… cluttering sidewalks… owning property.”  
  
Blair seethed. “Want some coffee, Leon? Wouldn’t want to tire you out by having to lift a finger.”  
  
“I do enjoy our little chats,” Leon smiled, “but time is money. This month’s payment, if you would.”  
  
Blair withdrew a credstick from his shirt pocket, a device the size and shape of a pen.  
  
“You sure about this?” Blair asked, his voice dripping with scorn. “I’m surprised you’d even want _my_ money.”  
  
One of Leon’s retainers stepped forward to take it, but Leon waved him aside, drawing up to Blair himself.  
  
“I’m always happy to take money out of _your_ hands,” Leon said. He snatched the credstick away, “I wouldn’t want you to leave a _stain_.”  
  
Blair grit his teeth, but said nothing.  
  
“You should be thanking me,” Leon said, turning his back on them, his voice filled with the utmost condescension. “Your little ‘business’ only exists because the Great Whites _allow_ it. Our monthly meetings are just the cost of doing business. But if you like, next month, I can bring a gift. Perhaps a nice collar to go with that tie.”  
  
“Hey, fuck you, buddy,” Petra growled.  
  
“You don’t get to speak!” Leon snapped with sudden vitriol, whirling around and stabbing a finger at her. “You shut your misshapen mouth, _goblin_! The humans are talking. Mr. Blair has the _courtesy_ of being human, if just _barely_!”  
  
The door to the coatroom slammed open. Kai stalked out, his fists balled at his sides, his eyes flinty and hard.  
  
“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” Kai said, his voice filled with a brittle fury. “Nor is that any way to treat a guy trying to make a living while pricks like you breathe down his neck.”  
  
“Who are you?” Leon demanded, fear creeping into his voice.  
  
“I’m the bouncer,” Kai growled, “and I’m about to bounce your skull off the street.”  
  
Kai let out a cry and charged down the hall. Leon stared at him coming, eyes wide with terror, before one of his bodyguards threw him to the ground. The two Whitmore suits reached into their jackets, drawing pistols- and Kai was still a few seconds away…  
  
“ **Ammunition** ,” Bradamant yelled, “ **magnetize!** ”  
  
The two men clicked their triggers uselessly as their weapons jammed, and then Kai was upon them. Kai jumped and drove his knee into a man’s sternum, slamming the air out of his lungs, before landing in a crouch and immediately kicking the other guard’s legs out from under him.  
  
Bradamant hooked her elbow around the man’s throat as he fell, catching him in a chokehold. Kai rounded on the first man, slamming his gun arm back into the wall and jarring his knuckles, the shock knocking the pistol from his fingers. Kai curled back into the man’s grip and pulled his arm forward, leveraging him over his back and flipping him onto the ground. Kai shattered the man’s nose with his heel, and he lay on the ground, moaning and spitting blood. The second man went limp in Bradamant’s arms, and she dropped his unconscious form like a sack of bricks.  
  
Leon gaped at them in disbelief. Blair and Petra seemed just as surprised. His bodyguards were dispatched in a matter of seconds. And now…  
  
Leon frowned, slipping back into condescension to mask his fear.  
  
“How very uncouth,” Leon got to his feet, dusting himself off. He tutted disapprovingly at Kai, before turning his attention to Bradamant.  
  
As Bradamant felt his slimy gaze upon her, she could tell, before he even opened his mouth, that he’d be more civil with her, rather than Kai, or Blair, or Petra. And she knew damn well why. Her lips curled in disgust.  
  
“You should keep better company, dear,” Leon said, jerking his head towards Kai. “Now come away from him, darling, before you catch something.”  
  
“Catch _this_ , asshole,” Bradamant spat, and decked him in the face.  
  
Leon staggered backwards and fell on his ass, his facade of confidence crumpling. Bradamant reached for him and he cringed away. She plucked Blair’s credstick out of Leon’s vest pocket and tossed it back to him, before grabbing Leon by the collar and hauling him to his feet.  
  
“Y-You’ll regret this!” Leon stammered. “You _filth_ could never-”  
  
Bradamant jabbed an elbow into Leon’s throat and he choked, gasping.  
  
“Oops,” Bradamant shrugged. “Kai, dear?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Kindly show Mr. Whitmore the door,” Bradamant said sweetly.  
  
Kai smiled. “My pleasure.”  
  
Kai grabbed a fistful of Leon’s nice shirt and hustled him to the door, Leon protesting silently, red-faced and with tears in his eyes. Kai shoved him towards the door, and gave Leon just enough time to think he might be allowed to walk out of there.  
  
Then, with karmic relish, Kai kicked Leon through the doors and onto his face in the street.  
  
Leon’s smug face smacked into the pavement notably worse for wear, Kai making good on his promise to bounce his skull off the curb. It was a satisfying kick, but as Kai ventured out onto the street, he noticed the crowd that had gathered outside; Whitmore’s sharp-dressed retainers, the mob of armed gangsters. And as Leon hit the pavement, it sent ripples through the crowd, until everyone turned, and all eyes were on him.  
  
Bradamant drew up behind him, followed by Blair and Petra. Kai took in the crowd surrounding the Papillon Heart, the smile fading from his face.  
  
“Oh,” he said, simply. His eyes met Bradamant’s behind him.  
  
“Bad call,” he muttered, as Bradamant nodded gravely. “Bad, bad call.”  
  
Leon smacking onto the curb had brought the crowd to a deathly silence. Across the street, Irene and Morgan watched as Kai and Bradamant emerged from the Heart. Irene lifted her head, eyes alight with recognition.  
  
“Kai?” Irene wondered.  
  
Then all hell broke loose.  
  
~*~  
  
Chaos erupted through the crowd. All at once, the assembled Hammerheads became a sea of roiling bodies, brandished weapons and swinging fists, crashing against the feeble wall of suited men crowding around Leon Whitmore’s form, prone on the pavement. The wave parted and the Hammerheads swept past, turning their sights away from Whitmore and his retainers to the shining bounty of the Papillon Heart, with only Kai and Bradamant blocking the door.  
  
“Take this place!” Bruce roared over the surge of bodies. “The Hammerheads will bleed this place for every cred they’ve got!”  
  
“Filthy rats!” Shot back one of Whitmore’s retainers, as his compatriots bundled Leon through the thronging crowd and to his car. “This city belongs to the Great Whites!”  
  
“Hey!” Petra yelled above the din. “How about, fuck _both_ of y’all, and you all get away from our store!”  
  
Petra cracked a Hammerhead across the jaw, lips curling into a satisfied, jocular grin. Then she flinched as bottles smashed into the Papillon Heart’s facade, and she ducked into the doorway, away from the flying glass.  
  
Then a Hammerhead lit a liquor-soaked rag, and cocked his arm back to throw.  
  
“ **Alcohol** ,” Irene called, “ **ignite!** ”  
  
The Molotov exploded in the man’s hands, dousing the street in flames. The crowd recoiled, parting around the blast. The poor soul caught in the middle threw himself to the ground and started rolling on the street to try to snuff out his burning clothes.  
  
The moment’s distraction was enough. Whitmore’s town car lit up, headlights blazingly bright in the midnight gloom. They tore off down the street, tires squealing on the pavement, Hammerheads throwing themselves out of the path or getting bounced off the fender with reckless abandon. They screamed out their fury as Leon and his retainers made their escape.  
  
“Forget about him!” Slim cried, shoving his comrades back towards the Heart. Another Hammerhead was getting ready to toss another firebomb. Slim caught him by the wrist, throwing the bottle into the street, where it exploded and fueled the flames. “Idiot! Don’t trash the place before we’ve looted it!”  
  
“Come on, Hammerheads!” Bruce cried, rallying his boys. “Get in there! Get in there and pick this place clean!”  
  
Bruce’s cyber-arms suddenly locked up, abruptly folding in towards his chest. Then, with a screech of metal, he threw out his arms and spun around, clotheslining the other Hammerheads packed in around him. The force of his cyber-arms knocking into their skulls left them in a daze, and they staggered away, unsteady on their feet. Bruce spat and cursed, fighting for control of his own limbs. He turned and saw Blair standing in the entrance to the Heart, his cyber-eye shining blue, the circuitry in his skin shining like veins of molten silver.  
  
“Can’t you see we’re closed?” Blair said icily. He gestured with his palm. Bruce’s cybernetic arms wrenched around and locked into position behind his back, as if he were in handcuffs.  
  
“Technopathic freak…!” Bruce gritted through his teeth, servos whining in his arms as he fought for control.  
  
A bolt of white lightning surged across the street and flashed across Blair’s arms. He shuddered and convulsed, sparks flying from his crossed forearms.  
  
“Simon!” Petra cried, searching for a weapon. She scooped up a fallen beer bottle, still half full, and chucked it at Slim, his form crackling with magical lightning.  
  
Maybe she thought the liquid would electrocute him. Instead, it did quite the opposite. The bottle smashed against his shoulder, dousing him in alcohol- which his aura of lightning promptly ignited. Slim cut off his attack as flames devoured his coat. He yanked it off, stamping it out on the street.  
  
Despite the fire blazing in the street and parting the crowd, the gathered gangsters only redoubled their efforts on breaking through to the Papillon Heart.  
  
Irene gritted her teeth. A dreadful certainty settled in her gut:  
  
If they lost the Heart, they lost it all.  
  
In her distraction, a Hammerhead came by to take a potshot. Irene ducked beneath the wild swing, from a fist so big it’d probably take her head clean off. She drew up with her back to a wall, baiting the next punch. Irene darted away as her attacker smashed his knuckles into the brick, howling out a curse.  
  
“Senior Irene!” Morgan cried, slapping a palm against the wall. A green aura enveloped a cluster of bricks and they came alive, shooting through the air and pummeling the Hammerhead until he was forced back into the press of the crowd.  
  
Irene scanned the chaos in the street, hunting for a plan…  
  
Across the street, Bradamant met her gaze.  
  
“Mr. Blair,” Bradamant said sharply, joining him just inside the door to the Heart, Kai and Petra keeping the Hammerheads at bay. “Does your storefront have an external speaker system?”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Blair said. A holographic screen appeared above his wrist, flickering and sparking from damaged circuitry. Bradamant watched him as he worked, simple flexes of his fingers navigating an interface only he could see.  
  
Back in the alley, Irene was running.  
  
“Morgan!” She called, as the junior ran at her heels. “Make us a path!”  
  
Morgan gestured, paving stones and stray bricks obeying their silent command. Morgan threw their hands forward as they ran, and they shot ahead into the sea of fire blazing through the street, forming stepping stones right down the middle.  
  
Irene could feel the rising heat, and it wasn’t just from the flames at her heels. The Hammerheads were pressing in around the entrance to the Papillon Heart, and their motley band couldn’t keep them out forever. Irene and Morgan touched down on the sidewalk, the edges of their clothes singed and smouldering.  
  
Bradamant met Irene’s eyes, a plan taking shape in glances and pointed looks.  
  
“Amplified,” Bradamant said, nodding towards Blair.  
  
“Fight or flight,” Irene said, and Bradamant nodded.  
  
Blair pressed a button, the speakers in his store awning crackling as they came to life.  
  
“Here, speak here!” He said, as he held out his palm, the Hammerheads closing in.  
  
Irene and Bradamant looked at each other and both took a deep breath.  
  
“ **Sixth Street Hammerheads** ,” they said together, “ **flee this place!** ”  
  
The Language rang out in their combined voices, carried down the block by Mr. Blair’s speaker system. The command shook the air and resonated in the core of every gangster assembled on that street, shaking their skulls, rattling their bones. The adrenaline that coursed through their bodies, the feeling that had filled them with such aggression, inverted itself at the Language’s command. It was like flipping a switch. From one moment to the next, hostility was transformed into terror.  
  
And they fled.  
  
The resonant command surged through the oncoming wave of bodies and scattered them, their momentum bursting like a soap bubble. The Hammerheads getting ready to charge the storefront instead ran in every direction, shoving aside their comrades in their haste to flee what they perceived as a source of mortal terror. Fueled by a primal, instinctive fear, the Sixth Street Hammerheads scattered into the night.  
  
The Language was powerful, and could not tell a lie. However, it had its limits. Water freezing, alcohol burning, these are things that are already within a thing’s nature to do. But anytime a Librarian tried to exert their will against a living, thinking person, much less a crowd of them, that power took its toll.  
  
Irene shrank down onto her knees, clutching Bradamant’s arms for support. Her head was spinning. She leaned her forehead against Bradamant’s, trying to catch her breath. As her breathing steadied, eventually, she opened her eyes.  
  
“Irene?” Bradamant asked.  
  
Irene shuddered. Joy and relief flooded through her, overpowering her own exhaustion. Relief that the danger had passsed- for now, anyway- but relief on a deeper level, one she couldn’t quite explain.  
  
“Bradamant,” Irene said, blinking back tears. “...I knew I’d find you.”  
  
“It took you long enough,” Bradamant smiled- not sly, or coquettish, but a sincere smile, rare by her standards. Haltingly, she and Irene got to their feet. And, when they realized just how close they were, they quickly broke apart.  
  
Irene wavered, unsteady on her feet- until Kai clapped a hand on her shoulder. Already, Irene felt more at ease. She reached up and curled a hand over Kai’s.  
  
Morgan approached Bradamant, stiff with nerves. They bowed their head in deference. Bradamant reached out and ruffled their hair.  
  
“Seems like Irene and I traded juniors for today,” Bradamant said. “I hope you didn’t pick up any bad habits.”  
  
“No, ma’am.”  
  
“What did we miss?” Irene asked, her hand lingering on Kai’s. “Unfortunately, all we did was get mugged.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Bradamant shrugged. “All we did was go drinking and get involved in a gang war.”  
  
“We also kicked the shit out of some racist prick,” Kai said. “Although I get the feeling that might come back to bite us.”  
  
“It almost certainly will,” Blair grumbled, stepping forward. “But you also stopped the Papillon Heart from being ransacked by the Hammerheads, so for that, at least, I’m grateful.”  
  
“Hey, hey, hold up,” Petra chimed in. “Are we just not gonna talk about that sweet shit you did with the speakers right there? You guys ain’t no ordinary street mages. What are y’all, psychic?”  
  
“Not quite,” Irene admitted.  
  
“If the four of you would join us upstairs,” Blair said, “I believe we need to have a talk.”  
  
~*~  
  
They gathered on the second floor of the Papillon Heart, after Petra took a moment to close up shop and Morgan used earth magic to snuff out the fire in the street. The office was a tangle of beat-up couches, tables, and plastic bins filled with simsense chips, each one with hand-drawn labels taped across the front. Halls split off from the main space into adjoining rooms- a cramped bathroom, a tiny kitchen, and a number of rooms scarcely big enough for a cot, a closet, and a desk.  
  
The team found seats where they could, Kai and Irene on one understuffed couch, Bradamant in an old armchair, and Morgan perched on an armrest. Blair brewed a pot of what he called ‘soykaf’, which Irene took to be coffee, or close enough. When he offered some to the group, Irene took a whiff of the foul-smelling liquid and quickly decided she was quite well awake.  
  
Blair shrugged, pouring two mugs. He handed one to Petra, draped backwards across a wooden chair, and settled into his own rolling chair at the desk in the corner.  
  
“So,” Blair began, taking a sip, “I believe introductions are in order. My name is Simon Blair, sometimes known under the street name ‘Hypnos’. Petra is my adoptive sister. Together, we own and operate The Papillon Heart. And you four,” he said, meeting the eyes of the team in turn, “are from the Invisible Library.”  
  
It was a statement, not a question. Irene and Kai exchanged looks.  
  
“How did you know?” Irene asked.  
  
“You’re unplugged,” Blair said, matter-of-factly. He spun in his chair, leaning forward to expose the digital socket at the base of his brain stem. Petra stood and showed hers off, as well.  
  
“Not everybody is as plugged up as _I_ am,” Blair said, his circuits shimmering under the skin of his forearms. “But everybody’s plugged, even if it’s just a single chipjack in their neck. Most people get plugged once they’re old enough for the surgery. You’re no children, so that was the first clue. But-”  
  
He glanced pointedly at Irene and Bradamant.  
  
“-after that brilliant display, there can be no doubt. You two, at least, are Librarians. Agents of the Invisible Library. Here with your… bodyguards?”  
  
“Pretty much,” Kai shrugged.  
  
“Apprentices, actually,” Morgan offered.  
  
“Fair enough,” Blair said. “You’re Librarians, which means two things. You can use the power known as the Language, and you are here, in this world, this ‘alternate’, to search for a book.”  
  
“Two for two,” Bradamant nodded.  
  
“How do you know all this?” Irene asked.  
  
“You came here, to The Papillon Heart, to meet with your Librarian-in-Residence,” Blair continued, “your man on the inside. He also went by the alias ‘Hypnos’.”  
  
“You know him? Can we see him?” Morgan chimed in.  
  
“No.”  
  
Blair gripped his mug so tightly his knuckles went white. He took a deep breath.  
  
“He was the previous owner of the Heart,” Petra jumped in, as Blair exhaled.  
  
“He was our father,” Blair said, his jaw tight. “Now he’s dead.”  
  
“Dead?” Irene balked. “H-How? When?”  
  
“Whitmore,” Petra spat. “The Great Whites. A couple months back.”  
  
“I would’ve let you know, if I knew how.” Blair exhaled. “He even told us where the fixed entrance to this plane was. It’s the side door to that little workshop across the street. He even bought the place, just so he’d be sure nothing would ever happen to the door. We knew where the door was. We even knew what to say.”  
  
“But you couldn’t speak the Language,” Kai said.  
  
“No,” Petra said, “but we knew that if somebody could, they’d come through that door.”  
  
An uncomfortable quiet settled among the group.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Irene said, “about your father.”  
  
“Me, too,” Blair muttered.  
  
“What about you guys?” Petra asked. “Didn’t you know him?”  
  
“Not well enough, it seems,” Bradamant said. “We didn’t even know he had family offworld.”  
  
Blair sighed, before slapping his knees and getting to his feet.  
  
“I know how this goes,” Blair said. “You guys need to get set up, right? For your big heist? Dad set some stuff aside, just for this kind of thing. You’ll need some cash, some clothes, some weapons, a place to stay… the workshop might need some fixing up, but it’ll be better than putting you up at the motel. I have some connections with places around the city, some leads-”  
  
“Mr. Blair,” Irene cut in, “please, you don’t have to do all this-”  
  
“Yes, I do,” Blair snapped, and it was then that Irene saw how young he really was. He was just… a kid. A kid trying his best, and growing up in two shadows- one of his father, and the other of an unfriendly world.  
  
“You guys already have one thing going for you,” Petra chirped. “You don’t exist.”  
  
“Exactly,” Blair continued. “You don’t exist, not officially. You can be no one, and you can be anyone. That sort of anonymity closes a few doors, but it opens up plenty more.”  
  
“There’s only one kind of job for people like you,” Petra grinned. “Shadowrunners.”  
  
“Mercenaries,” Blair explained, noting the blank looks before him. “There’s a lot of work in the shadows for people who aren’t too picky who they work for or what jobs they do. You gotta know your way around a heist, and your way around a fight. From what I hear about the Library, you should be right at home.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Irene said. “This is a lot to take in.”  
  
“That’s fair,” Blair said. “You’ve had a long night. But just listen to me. I don’t know what kind of book you’re here to go after, but chances are it’s in the hand of a mega-corp- or worse, in the hands of a dragon. You guys aren’t ready for that kind of run. Trust me. But if you’re willing to settle in for the long haul, I’m sure we can figure out something. Bottom line is, you need to prepare yourselves for the heist of a century, since you guys don’t have the gear to take on a AAA corporation. Petra and I need the Hammerheads and Great Whites off our backs, since the street gangs are bad for business. You help us, we help you, and we all make some money. What do you say?”  
  
Blair looked at the team expectantly, watching them consider his proposal. Eventually, Petra set down her mug and put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“ _I_ say,” Petra cut in, “we’ve given them plenty to chew on. And- if this is okay with you guys- I say we work out the details in the morning. Alright?”  
  
Blair nodded.  
  
“Alright,” he said. “I need to finish closing up the shop, anyway.”  
  
“Y’all are welcome to crash here ‘til we find you someplace better,” Petra said.  
  
“Thank you,” Kai said. “That’s very kind.”  
  
“It’s no biggie,” Petra shrugged. “Now, I’ve got some extra blankets and shit over here…”  
  
“I can help,” Morgan said, scurrying off at Petra’s heels.  
  
Blair nodded, before vanishing downstairs, leaving Irene, Kai, and Bradamant to themselves.  
  
Irene let out an exhausted sigh, sinking down in her seat.  
  
“What a night,” she muttered.  
  
“Senior Hypnos is dead,” Kai breathed. “What do we do?”  
  
“The situation has changed,” Bradamant said. “The Library must be informed. I can go-”  
  
“Wait,” Irene said sharply. “Don’t… Don’t leave.”  
  
Bradamant swallowed. Nodded. “I won’t,” she said.  
  
“Maybe we should take the Blairs up on their offer,” Kai said. “We’re dead in the water, otherwise.”  
  
“Agreed,” Bradamant said. “Loathe as I am to rely on local support, this alternate is proving to be rather more…”  
  
“Dangerous?” Irene asked.  
  
“... _exciting_ , than I’d like.”  
  
“You love it,” Irene teased.  
  
“I do,” Bradamant smiled. “Come on, chin up, Irene. Not every mission can have us back at the Library in a day. Who knows? Being one of these 'shadowrunners' might even be fun.”  
  
Irene sighed. She picked herself up out of her seat, crossing over to the tinted windows and looking out over the street. Between the tint, and the night, she could hardly see a thing- save for her weary, soot-stained reflection, and her distant, tired eyes.  
  
“I don’t want to make a life here,” she admitted, to no one in particular.  
  
“Life happens wherever you go, whether you want it or not,” Kai said behind her.  
  
“Did you read that in a book?” Bradamant asked.  
  
“Nah, I made it up.” Kai said. “How’d it sound?”  
  
Kai and Bradamant’s reflections joined Irene’s in the shadow of tinted glass. Kai, steady and sure, but not unmoving- like a gentle, swaying tide. Bradamant, flighty, unpredictable, but ambitious, boundless, free. And here was Irene between them, right where she belonged- the line where the sky meets the sea.  
  
A familiar melancholy took her, but she shook it away. Irene sighed, but it was a contented sigh.  
  
“Homesick?” Bradamant asked. Irene shook her head.  
  
“How can I be?” She said. “I have you.”  
  
If Irene noticed how those words made both Kai and Bradamant flush and look away, she certainly didn’t show it. Instead, her gaze wandered to the hall, where Petra and Morgan were returning, Morgan’s skinny arms laden with bundled quilts.  
  
“Let’s give Morgan a hand,” Irene laughed. “And let’s all get some rest. Tomorrow, we have work to do.”  
  
Irene helped the others settle in for the night, wishing she had brought a good book. She curled up on a couch, draping an arm across her eyes, musing.  
  
Here they were, under the roof of Senior Librarian Hypnos, an island of shelter in a unfriendly sea. It was a rough start, and she had a dreadful feeling that it would only get rougher. Still, they weren’t dead yet. And they weren’t alone.  
  
The success of their stay in Gamma-306 now lay in the hands of Simon and Petra Blair, the children of Senior Hypnos. Hypnos, the god of sleep, also had children, Irene mused, as she felt exhaustion drag her away. The gods of dream. There were three of them, weren't there? Shaper. Fantasy. Fear…  
  
_It won’t be easy._  
  
Coppelia’s warning echoed, ghostlike, in Irene’s ear.  
  
“We’ll find a way,” Irene whispered into the air, like a prayer.  
  
Night settled over the Papillon Heart. Irene sighed, and fell into dreams.  
  
~*~


End file.
